A Ballad poem: Liberty's Story
It was in Victorian France,
that Lady Liberty came into chance,
commissioned to a sculptor and architect
who had the mind to prospect.
The sculptor's name was Bartholdi,
He lived in the area of west Parii.
He had a great mind
for all sorts of monuments and statues of various kinds.
United States created fuss,
Saying, 'what in the world will it do for us?'
Well now, that really depends,
On what in the world Bartholdi intends.
Bartholdi announced what he would do;
He said, "Why, it is a gift from us to you;
it is a present, France to U.S.A.,
and it will be started now, today."
An invitation sent that day,
which contacted Gustav Eiffel, who happened to be not far away.
And what did that letter say?
'Dear Eiffel, I need you to help. I will give you quite a pay,
we shall design a statue, like Rhodes,
so tall it may top safety codes".
For this was true before 1910,
For the buildings were smaller way back then.
They made designs,
before they came up with the one that seemed fine.
Thet built the statue at a good pace,
and told America it would be send it over as soon as they'd build a base.
The base, a pedestal, a stool,
Putting a statue high up and elegant, like no fool.
France would not provide,
it was for America to decide,
the color, the shape an the size,
but first the government would have to compromise;
"Donate, give till it hurts, you don't want our pride to burst,
that would be quite the worst!"
Not to put the country in shame,
money from everywhere in came.
So the people gave the bills,
in New York to California hills.
Rockefeller, Vanderbilt, and Chrysler Co. too,
Paved the way for something new.
But as for the poor, they had not a clue,
they couldn't pay for the pedistal, it was true.
Its built brick by brick, rising tall,
Sturdily assembled as not to fall.
"But when will this statue come?" said the 8th Street barber,
as everyone else asked in the great city's harbor.
As Chester A. Arthur did say, "when the statue is done,
France will start to load the ton.
It's been well over a year,
the day of arrival should be near."
One morning so fine and so clear,
There was, from Manhattan, a magnificent cheer,
for the Lady Liberty had arrived,
the United States had, indeed, compromised!
The rusty barge released its prize,
to reveal copper sheets bound in iron ties.
"Unload now, there's no time to waste,
come now and make haste!"
Wasn't before much time at all,
that the statue was completed well into the fall.
A celebration was at hand,
there would be cannons, barges, boats, and a band.
U.S. and French flags flew very high,
but not so much as to touch the sky.
On a rainy day in 1886, the last stone went into place
and then New York unveiled face;
Her solemn look,
holding a book,
a lighthouse torch
(all observed from a 10th Ave, top floor porch)
Then Gutzon Borglum came to town,
and scaled up Liberty's great green gown,
sawing out copper from her marvelous flame,
making it look rather tame.
Replacing it with vintage high class...
orange, yellow, and white Tiffany glass.
It wasn't before many weeks,
that the torch developed cracks and leaks.
1916, in the old bay,
came an explosion from an island not far away.
Black Toms island explosion (on Liberty's right hand),
that left shrapnel impeded in Liberty's shoulder and shook places as far as Maryland.
People new this was no accident
and that it was a German terrorist, starting a fire and leaving the statue bent.
Today, many have forgot,
that this was an event that happened on "Toms old lot".
Nearly 60 years went by; past,
and then, at last...
A renovation was to occur!
Something that New Yorkers could use to refer
to a revival of the historic landmark,
in which all copper pieces would be shinned in Liberty Park.
The preservationists were eager to start,
but first her skin pieces would have to come apart.
She came through chance,
by the European country of France. Its still symbolic as ever, it's the city's romance, said the New York Times. It's our great pride, exaggerated the black and white Broadway mimes.
Then 9/11 terrorists,
that left in American hearts, a crack.
Frightened where the workers and they chose
that the Lady Liberty would have to close.
But it wasn't long before Liberty had been
reopened all over again.
And America could still see,
that she was always meant to be.
She is there in all sorts of times,
through polluted air as sour as limes.
Raised high for all to see,
She symbolizes those who are free.
Liberty is the lantern in the dark,
she leaves, in immigrants minds, a mark.
But, as you should know, time does pass.
The air turns the color of the metal mass,
to a dull copper, grayish-green;
(the color of an aging bean.)
Nothing yet has stopped her symbolism through decades of ten.
Seen by the skyscraper builders, the strong workmen.
She holds her torch through catastrophe
and even some unusual years that where very mutinous.
Although now green and worn with age,
she is old, but never caged.
'Liberty enlightening the world' and lands
watching us live hand in hand.
With the broken chains at her feet,
to show no more hard rules or imperialism to beat.
Liberty has a story to tell
of the country's history and hers as well
riddle poems: The Moon
Casting a glow,
the jewel of the night,
the lamp in the darkness,
shining her light
She is known as 'luna'
who brightens the fields,
through the trees
A beacon, for those in need.
She hangs by string high above,
as crisp, white, and beautiful as a dove.
The mysterious golden kite,
the lost voyager holding up with all her might.
Over the hills and shimmering seas bathed in light,
through the heavy clouds or clear dark night.
File:Moon 22 halo colorado.jpg
(riddle poem) New York An island of concrete and glass blocks reaching for the sky
where fortunes are made,
dreams become reality;
anything is possible.
Home to the rich and poor; famous and forgotten
a place for arts and finance.
Where memories are saved,
monuments are built.
The eye of the lion. A window cleaners dream or nightmare.
Random poem: The Lexington Ave. Subway
Going down the stairs of a subway station in New York City,
the warm grimy feel to the station, the chipped tiles of former grandeur.
The gates to get through, first, at the front entrance, then passing on.
Rusty iron trusses give away a spooky feel,
the silence, (odd to the city) except for the mother trying to calm her crying child or 'tap tap' of the young Hunters College student texting on his cell phone.
People bend over near the tracks to look for a subway light in the tunnel or the familiar groans of the old iron wheel joints.
Finally, the subway comes, the floating lantern emerges closer and closer,
the squeaks of the subway break the silence and the retro stainless steel doors open to reveal voices of the crowded and relieved.
The women with the shopping bag quickly gets up from the iron bench and walks, with the fast click of high heals, into a crowded subway car.
The subway seals its double doors from the few sounds of the station,
then pulls away into the darkness of the old and blackened concrete tunnel.
The subway rattles through the forgotten darkness with its crowded or empty cars,
each car is another land sealed off from the next.
The subway cars, flooded with the florescent glow.
The cool, light air; yet stale and scentless.
The gentleman with the glasses in the corner reads a day old copy of the 'New York Times'.
A sketchy looking man stares pointlessly out the reflective plate glass windows...
looking for hope?
To the right, a stylish looking woman and her friend start a conversation about sales of 'Sax Fith Ave'.,
the whole subway listens as an alternative from silence,
the women realize, and quickly seise to speak. (In the subway, no one speaks; they are afraid to be the breaker of the silence; the change to the all-too-familiar pattern.)
The formerly unnoticed man in the corner, who's subway is home, snores quietly with a dirty and crumpled round plastic bag on his lap reading 'Macy's'.
Then,
'Ding, "Next stop: Grand Central and Fifth Ave."
The formerly unnoticed man in the corner stretches and alertly afraid that he may have missed his stop.
"Approaching Grand Central district; Fifth Ave."
He realizes this as his Q to nothing, and returns to sleep.
Is this my stop?
No.
The subway car is suddenly bathed in light one side.
Everyone turns around, as an owl might, at look at the busier station.
Screeching to a stop and those standing clutch to the metal poles that run vertically through the car
Those who don't listen to announcement look intently through the windows at the station sign.
The doors open and the warm and grimy smell of a New York station seep into the car along with loud voices and a few people who look around and seem confused of their whereabouts.
The doors quickly close with the soft clap of perfection.
The subway, once again, quickly rolls away into the darkness...
found poem: 'A Matter of Honor' (from a Newsweek article by John Barry)
I saw the coffins arrive
at the Dover Air Force Base
The giant C-17 arrive and discharge its melancholy cargo:
flag draped coffins.
The scene was off the record;
no press or photographs allowed.
There were no bugles,
no bands.
Two people wept, everyone else was stoical.
There is pressure on the families;
emotional and financial hardship for many.
Some want a public ceremony;
some may want privacy and silence.
Is there a better way to honor their privacy?
Public is reminded of the price of war.
Point of view poem: Window
Looking through to something beyond.
An ocean of no definite reflection.
The two way magic mirror.
Forgotten by distraction of elements behind.
Each and every home's essential design piece.
The delicate warrior against wind and rain.
Gone with the simple hit of a stone.
A thousand diamonds.
I have nothing to give,
with nothing to hide.
No distraction, no attention of notice.
No ears, no mouth, featureless.
I am the eye, looking in and out.
Keeping you dry.
Breakable, death is always a lose to the warmth.
One becomes many with the hard tap on my surface.
File:GlassWindow.jpg
Metaphor poem: The shower of Earth
many bullets through air
billions of diamonds
droplets of molten silver
nature's chandelier
Rounded crystals amongst the steam
sun's phantom mask
A shinning back drop
City lights in darkness
A plane falling to the ground
Fire flies in night
A smoke disguise
Rain and fog, seen through window,
Ms. Duckworth's room
7:45 morning.
Nicholas
A Ballad poem:Liberty's Story
It was in Victorian France,
that Lady Liberty came into chance,
commissioned to a sculptor and architect
who had the mind to prospect.
The sculptor's name was Bartholdi,
He lived in the area of west Parii.
He had a great mind
for all sorts of monuments and statues of various kinds.
United States created fuss,
Saying, 'what in the world will it do for us?'
Well now, that really depends,
On what in the world Bartholdi intends.
Bartholdi announced what he would do;
He said, "Why, it is a gift from us to you;
it is a present, France to U.S.A.,
and it will be started now, today."
An invitation sent that day,
which contacted Gustav Eiffel, who happened to be not far away.
And what did that letter say?
'Dear Eiffel, I need you to help. I will give you quite a pay,
we shall design a statue, like Rhodes,
so tall it may top safety codes".
For this was true before 1910,
For the buildings were smaller way back then.
They made designs,
before they came up with the one that seemed fine.
Thet built the statue at a good pace,
and told America it would be send it over as soon as they'd build a base.
The base, a pedestal, a stool,
Putting a statue high up and elegant, like no fool.
France would not provide,
it was for America to decide,
the color, the shape an the size,
but first the government would have to compromise;
"Donate, give till it hurts, you don't want our pride to burst,
that would be quite the worst!"
Not to put the country in shame,
money from everywhere in came.
So the people gave the bills,
in New York to California hills.
Rockefeller, Vanderbilt, and Chrysler Co. too,
Paved the way for something new.
But as for the poor, they had not a clue,
they couldn't pay for the pedistal, it was true.
Its built brick by brick, rising tall,
Sturdily assembled as not to fall.
"But when will this statue come?" said the 8th Street barber,
as everyone else asked in the great city's harbor.
As Chester A. Arthur did say, "when the statue is done,
France will start to load the ton.
It's been well over a year,
the day of arrival should be near."
One morning so fine and so clear,
There was, from Manhattan, a magnificent cheer,
for the Lady Liberty had arrived,
the United States had, indeed, compromised!
The rusty barge released its prize,
to reveal copper sheets bound in iron ties.
"Unload now, there's no time to waste,
come now and make haste!"
Wasn't before much time at all,
that the statue was completed well into the fall.
A celebration was at hand,
there would be cannons, barges, boats, and a band.
U.S. and French flags flew very high,
but not so much as to touch the sky.
On a rainy day in 1886, the last stone went into place
and then New York unveiled face;
Her solemn look,
holding a book,
a lighthouse torch
(all observed from a 10th Ave, top floor porch)
Then Gutzon Borglum came to town,
and scaled up Liberty's great green gown,
sawing out copper from her marvelous flame,
making it look rather tame.
Replacing it with vintage high class...
orange, yellow, and white Tiffany glass.
It wasn't before many weeks,
that the torch developed cracks and leaks.
1916, in the old bay,
came an explosion from an island not far away.
Black Toms island explosion (on Liberty's right hand),
that left shrapnel impeded in Liberty's shoulder and shook places as far as Maryland.
People new this was no accident
and that it was a German terrorist, starting a fire and leaving the statue bent.
Today, many have forgot,
that this was an event that happened on "Toms old lot".
Nearly 60 years went by; past,
and then, at last...
A renovation was to occur!
Something that New Yorkers could use to refer
to a revival of the historic landmark,
in which all copper pieces would be shinned in Liberty Park.
The preservationists were eager to start,
but first her skin pieces would have to come apart.
She came through chance,
by the European country of France.
Its still symbolic as ever, it's the city's romance, said the New York Times.
It's our great pride, exaggerated the black and white Broadway mimes.
Then 9/11 terrorists,
that left in American hearts, a crack.
Frightened where the workers and they chose
that the Lady Liberty would have to close.
But it wasn't long before Liberty had been
reopened all over again.
And America could still see,
that she was always meant to be.
She is there in all sorts of times,
through polluted air as sour as limes.
Raised high for all to see,
She symbolizes those who are free.
Liberty is the lantern in the dark,
she leaves, in immigrants minds, a mark.
But, as you should know, time does pass.
The air turns the color of the metal mass,
to a dull copper, grayish-green;
(the color of an aging bean.)
Nothing yet has stopped her symbolism through decades of ten.
Seen by the skyscraper builders, the strong workmen.
She holds her torch through catastrophe
and even some unusual years that where very mutinous.
Although now green and worn with age,
she is old, but never caged.
'Liberty enlightening the world' and lands
watching us live hand in hand.
With the broken chains at her feet,
to show no more hard rules or imperialism to beat.
Liberty has a story to tell
of the country's history and hers as well
riddle poems:
The Moon
Casting a glow,
the jewel of the night,
the lamp in the darkness,
shining her light
She is known as 'luna'
who brightens the fields,
through the trees
A beacon, for those in need.
She hangs by string high above,
as crisp, white, and beautiful as a dove.
The mysterious golden kite,
the lost voyager holding up with all her might.
Over the hills and shimmering seas bathed in light,
through the heavy clouds or clear dark night.
(riddle poem)
New York
An island of concrete and glass blocks reaching for the sky
where fortunes are made,
dreams become reality;
anything is possible.
Home to the rich and poor; famous and forgotten
a place for arts and finance.
Where memories are saved,
monuments are built.
The eye of the lion.
A window cleaners dream or nightmare.
Random poem:
The Lexington Ave. Subway
Going down the stairs of a subway station in New York City,
the warm grimy feel to the station, the chipped tiles of former grandeur.
The gates to get through, first, at the front entrance, then passing on.
Rusty iron trusses give away a spooky feel,
the silence, (odd to the city) except for the mother trying to calm her crying child or 'tap tap' of the young Hunters College student texting on his cell phone.
People bend over near the tracks to look for a subway light in the tunnel or the familiar groans of the old iron wheel joints.
Finally, the subway comes, the floating lantern emerges closer and closer,
the squeaks of the subway break the silence and the retro stainless steel doors open to reveal voices of the crowded and relieved.
The women with the shopping bag quickly gets up from the iron bench and walks, with the fast click of high heals, into a crowded subway car.
The subway seals its double doors from the few sounds of the station,
then pulls away into the darkness of the old and blackened concrete tunnel.
The subway rattles through the forgotten darkness with its crowded or empty cars,
each car is another land sealed off from the next.
The subway cars, flooded with the florescent glow.
The cool, light air; yet stale and scentless.
The gentleman with the glasses in the corner reads a day old copy of the 'New York Times'.
A sketchy looking man stares pointlessly out the reflective plate glass windows...
looking for hope?
To the right, a stylish looking woman and her friend start a conversation about sales of 'Sax Fith Ave'.,
the whole subway listens as an alternative from silence,
the women realize, and quickly seise to speak.
(In the subway, no one speaks; they are afraid to be the breaker of the silence; the change to the all-too-familiar pattern.)
The formerly unnoticed man in the corner, who's subway is home, snores quietly with a dirty and crumpled round plastic bag on his lap reading 'Macy's'.
Then,
'Ding, "Next stop: Grand Central and Fifth Ave."
The formerly unnoticed man in the corner stretches and alertly afraid that he may have missed his stop.
"Approaching Grand Central district; Fifth Ave."
He realizes this as his Q to nothing, and returns to sleep.
Is this my stop?
No.
The subway car is suddenly bathed in light one side.
Everyone turns around, as an owl might, at look at the busier station.
Screeching to a stop and those standing clutch to the metal poles that run vertically through the car
Those who don't listen to announcement look intently through the windows at the station sign.
The doors open and the warm and grimy smell of a New York station seep into the car along with loud voices and a few people who look around and seem confused of their whereabouts.
The doors quickly close with the soft clap of perfection.
The subway, once again, quickly rolls away into the darkness...
found poem:
'A Matter of Honor' (from a Newsweek article by John Barry)
I saw the coffins arrive
at the Dover Air Force Base
The giant C-17 arrive and discharge its melancholy cargo:
flag draped coffins.
The scene was off the record;
no press or photographs allowed.
There were no bugles,
no bands.
Two people wept, everyone else was stoical.
There is pressure on the families;
emotional and financial hardship for many.
Some want a public ceremony;
some may want privacy and silence.
Is there a better way to honor their privacy?
Public is reminded of the price of war.
Point of view poem:
Window
Looking through to something beyond.
An ocean of no definite reflection.
The two way magic mirror.
Forgotten by distraction of elements behind.
Each and every home's essential design piece.
The delicate warrior against wind and rain.
Gone with the simple hit of a stone.
A thousand diamonds.
I have nothing to give,
with nothing to hide.
No distraction, no attention of notice.
No ears, no mouth, featureless.
I am the eye, looking in and out.
Keeping you dry.
Breakable, death is always a lose to the warmth.
One becomes many with the hard tap on my surface.
Metaphor poem:
The shower of Earth
many bullets through air
billions of diamonds
droplets of molten silver
nature's chandelier
Rounded crystals amongst the steam
sun's phantom mask
A shinning back drop
City lights in darkness
A plane falling to the ground
Fire flies in night
A smoke disguise
Rain and fog, seen through window,
Ms. Duckworth's room
7:45 morning.